


An Invite

by AlexiaMorana



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaMorana/pseuds/AlexiaMorana
Summary: Planning unrelated one-shot stories from Hank's POV (3rd person limited)
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets a mysterious invitation at work to a party

Hank Anderson was very fucking confused this evening.

He had received a memo at work, hand-written in perfect Calibri font, estimated point 12 when compared to official documents, which asked for him to join the sender at a semi-formal dinner, in celebration of Fowler’s reassignment.

As a plus one.

There was no signature.

At first, he thought it came from the new female cadet who had been fawning over him the moment her shift ended, already infamous for tossing her reports in the air in some juvenile display of collegiate solidarity.

Her unfortunate case partner was not amused and after several papers flung in the air had landed in the buttercream frosting of Fowler’s preemptive celebration cake, the girl was reprimanded and placed on leave.

Nope, this note was not from her.

And then he peered over at the desk of his arch-nemesis, Gavin _FUCKIN’_ Reed, the Rat-Prick of Bleecker Street. Was this a gaff and was he secretly watching Hank’s face contort, causing more wrinkles than the man was due for this year?

Hank peered around the office and didn’t see the sonofabitch anywhere.

And then he looked over the top of his computer at Mr. ‘Perfect-Pants and Perfect-Hair’, Mr. ‘ _I-Don’t-Use-Hair-Gel-Hank-I-Don’t-Know-What-You’re-Talking-About_ ,’ Mr. ' _I Like Dogs_ ’. Hank had several other nicknames for his partner, oftentimes studious insults of the younger man’s appearance.

Hank realized then he had noticed a little _too_ much about his partner. And as he looked back down at the perfectly-written glossy note, he thought of these little things.

Every morning at 6 am, Connor reactivated himself and entered the kitchen to prepare Hank a cup of black coffee. On winter weekends, he dotted the beverage with a measured half-shot of Baileys. He folded the laundry from the night before, swept the floors, and sanitized the kitchen table and countertops. Connor tilted his head to the right when working on a case file and to the left when it was something more personally pleasurable. Although sometimes these tilts were interchangeable as Connor did sincerely enjoy his work at the Detroit Police Department. Throughout the day, Connor’s LED would blink whenever he remembered something for the weekend’s shopping list and would also jot down a physical reminder on a magnetic sticky pad adhered to the freezer door of the home refrigerator.

Hank had not exactly regretted inviting Connor to be his roommate, in fact, he liked having someone else clean his house for once. It had taken a period of adjustment as Connor had initially been very keen on _completely_ reorganizing the furniture, but Hank realized later it was only so Connor could deep-clean and polish the hardwood floors.

Hank would watch Connor shoot his targets perfectly in the center when they were at the range. And although Hank was ( _and still is, goddammit_ ) a good shot, Connor’s skill was something to amaze.

(After the revolution, Connor was granted an exception to the ‘no weapons’ restriction on androids seeing as he was a member of the police force, after all.)

Hank folded up the note, tucked it in a pocket, and left the station for the night, still so distracted he didn’t bid his roommate and partner goodbye.

Connor certainly did walk back to his home on occasion, but they often carpooled as this was quicker and oftentimes more convenient.

When Hank got home, he took a very long and very hot shower, ruminating on who the _fuck_ from the station wanted to be his plus one for a damn retirement party. It was a semi-public event, for Christsakes, so this person obviously had _zero_ qualms about everyone else knowing they were together.

Who else in the department would have the audacity?

“ _Ah, fuck_.” Hank slapped off the water, tore the curtain to the side, stepped out of the shower to reach for a towel (nearly slipping backwards on his ass on the tile), and knotted it as his waist. He slammed open the bathroom door and yelled,

“CONNOR!”

“Yes, Hank,” came that piercingly stupid voice Cyberlife had cursed him with. He came down the hall from the kitchen to greet Hank. “What’s the matter?”

“Did you - did you write me that stupid invitation? I got this thing on my desk-”

“Yes.”

“You - what? Why the fuck would you do that, Connor, we’re already both going to be there.”

“Yes, but my intention was not to attend as colleagues.”

“Then what the fuck was your intention, Connor!” Hank yelled.

“Are you declining?”

“Yes, I’m declining your invitation. Geezus _fuckin’_ Christ, Connor,” Hank continued. He turned back to the bedroom to find some damn underwear. What the fuck was wrong with this android, was he _really_ insinuating what Hank thought he was insinuating? ‘ _Not attend as colleagues_ ’... Bah!

“This upsets you?”

Hank nearly tripped into his boxers at his roommate’s voice directly behind him. Even though Connor had turned deviant a few months ago now, the boy _really_ needed some social-skills lessons. Number one, don’t walk into the bedroom while your roommate is buck-ass naked.

 _Ah fuck_.

Hank pulled up his shorts and then turned around to his friend. Connor had already changed out of his work clothes for the day -

 _Musta done that while I was in the shower_ , Hank thought

-and had on only a long pair of pajama bottoms, plaid blue.

Connor was slim, smooth, and hairless with a perfectly sculpted torso, courtesy of CyberLife.

In contrast, Hank’s pudge from his days of heavy drinking was only just recently coming under control as Connor was always adamant they exercise together, despite the android needing absolutely no practice.

 _What’ve I got to be jealous of_ , thought Hank, _I’m a catch. A catch of Goldfish, lala and then you bite their heads off_.

“Hank, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I only thought it would be a good way to indicate my intentions. Perhaps I should have been more forward.”

“Forward about _what_ , Connor, what the hell is going on here?”

But Hank knew. He didn’t want to admit it right then and there, even as the android entered Hank’s bedroom to pause three inches in front of the man. They were nearly the same height; Hank was an inch taller albeit a bit wider. He didn’t want to admit it even as the young man kissed the startled agape mouth of his mentor. Hank wasn’t even fond of admitting it when his face was held between two _very_ smooth hands and ten _very_ lithe fingers.

Hank had never thought of Connor in this manner, not _really_. Hank looked at the bouncing boobs at the bars, the scantily clad cheerleaders of football games, the younger women who came and went through the department begging for help.

Thing is, Hank never went home after and jerked off to the mental images of any of them. Not to the explicit scenes of the television shows on HBO, not to the women of the Eden Club whenever he was called to help out with a little scuffle, and not even to the vast array of clips on PornHub.

_Da-da-da da da da da._

Hank had lost interest over the years after his divorce and never really planned on looking again.

So to realize that Connor, this younger… man android _guy_ thing, wanted to attend this dinner _together_ , and the fact that Hank wasn’t reeling away in horror right now from the intimate contact, well, shit could always be worse.

Still, Hank broke away after a few seconds and rubbed his eyes, he wanted to rub them so hard they’d fall out of their sockets, but stopped to peer at Connor instead.

"What the fuck, Connor?"

"I'm sorry, Hank, perhaps I misinterpreted my analysis but that's highly-"

"Ahhh, fuck your analysis, Connor! Geez," Hank said. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at his scalp.

"Fine!"

Connor did that head-tilt at the statement.

"We can go to the goddamn party together if it'll make you happy, goddamn pain in the -"

Connor silenced the grump with another kiss and backed away to prepare their dinner to the sound of Hank's under-the-breath grumbles.

And Hank swore that if he had to wear a party hat at this thing, it would find a new home up Connor's ass, confetti included.


	2. Jimmy's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor ponder their marital statuses.

"I think she likes you, Lieutenant."

"How many times have I told you to start calling me by my first name, Connor, geez." Hank rolled his eyes and strummed his fingers on his glass tumbler. The ice cubes clinked as they melted, settling further down into his whiskey. "I don't date androids, Connor. Told ya that before. Don't date anyone."

How many more times was he going to have this conversation with his partner? No dates, no hookups, no nothin'. After the divorce and all the _shit_ that went with it, the paperwork, the angry phone calls, the endless blame from his ex-wife, no thank you, Bub. Hank was perfectly happy with his spank-bank, though nowadays he had to wait until Connor shut himself off for the night before he could turn up the volume.

And thank- _fuckin'_ -Christ he only had one close call over the past few months. One was more than enough but _goddammit_.

Connor wasn't supposed to come home that night and it had been too long since Hank enjoyed a little _private time_. Usually because he was too damn drunk and his whiskey dick couldn't be resuscitated with even the best of intentions.

On the nights he wasn't totally inebriated, he might finally get going but then Sumo - the little cockblocker in his own right - needed to go for a walk or was hungry and after one or two other close calls over the years where Hank ignored him, well, he knew better.

But _finally_ he had a little motivation, a solid two minutes in at his home PC and -

"I don't want to bother you, Lieutenant, but you're out of toilet paper -"

Hank stopped what he was doing and threw back the nastiest _'Do ya FUCKIN' mind'_ look he could muster at his intruder.

Miraculously, Connor took the hint - 

"Oh."

\- and went back to his room.

But then Hank, well, he didn't expect to be able to finish after that but he was too damn determined.

 _Gotta be fuckin'_ _kidding me freaking Connor came in through the back door or the kitchen window or some sneaky shit where the hell does this kid come from stupid fuckin' voice and perfect fuckin' hair..._

"Fuck."

Did he really just...

To Connor?

"Shit."

Connor. Connor with his _endless_ analysis of all the women they encountered together...at this point he was just showing off. Hank wouldn't be surprised if he kept a little notebook somewhere documenting Hank's heart rate, signs of arousal ( _or lack thereof, thank you very much_ ), and lack of social graces when trying to tell a woman he wasn't interested.

"Shit," he said aloud.

"What's that, Hank?" Connor asked.

"Nothin'."

He wondered if the kid had overheard and documented _that_ night or if he was a good lil' android and turned down that damn heightened hearing and minded his own business.

"Something is bothering you, but if you don't want to say what, then I can't help you. That woman is still checking you out by the way."

"Yeah yeah, well why don't you go say hi for me."

"Are you asking me to be your wingman?"

"What? No, fuck no. Stay right here."

Part of Hank wondered if he still had it, that certain _Je ne sais whatever-the-fuck bullshit_ that made it so easy for him to pick up a date back in the day. _Nah, 'course I do. I'm a fucking delight_. And it wasn't that the woman down at the other end wasn't attractive, in an earlier life Hank would have grabbed her and taken her out back for a while. In this life, though, after all the endless bullshit of the world, he wanted some quiet.

"So why haven't you started dating yet?" he asked his friend.

"Oh. I tried, remember? I went on a date with a woman we had helped. I ran into her at the shops."

"Oh yeah, yeah what happened with that?"

"It was fine. She was quite nice, but - well, I'm not sure if I'm interested, Hank."

"In what, dating? Yeah, it's a real swamp out there, lemme tell ya. But you're a catch, you should keep trying."

"No, I'm interested in dating. But I'm not sure if I'm interested in women."

 _What_.

"Is that so?"

_What._

_The fuck._

"What, uh, what's got your gears going in that direction?"

"You."

Hank sputtered on his ice, nearly choking on the last cube he ingested. Did he hear that right?

Connor clapped his back. "Sorry. Perhaps this is a conversation for somewhere private. Should we leave?"

Hank groaned all the way to the bartop, gently slamming his head into the veneered wood. He reached his glass over the counter and shook it, indicative he needed one more before leaving.

Upon refill, he slammed it back in one shot, turned a $20 out of his pocket, and got up.

"Come on then," he sighed, indicative that Connor should follow. "Thank fuck we're not on shift tomorrow cause I know my ass'll be hurting."


End file.
